Dance
by Sa Rart
Summary: A tribute to Rukia Kuchiki - the endless dance through life, of pain and trouble, of hope and wonder. For she has seen death, and she has known death, and she has lived. Alone or together, she has lived.
1. Hearts of Ice and Stone

**Yes… I finally worked myself up to write again, thanks to Project PULL. Look it up if you're interested in a little motivation!**

** Anyways… not a very Christmas Eve-ish post. Kind of the more depressing and sorrowing type… again… Does it say something about me that it's all I can write lately? I hope not.**

** Thanks to all reviewers, readers, and fans of Bleach – which, sadly, I do not own. Merry Christmas!**

She watches, frozen in shock, watches the lips move, listens to the words that come – the words that come with casual laughter, filling the chamber with its sincerity. It is his voice that speaks, it is his laugh that he laughs, and it is his face that is filled with humor. It resonates in the cold walls, the impassive stone pillars that do not shed tears nor crumble as the time moves around them.

Sometimes, she wishes she could be like those stone columns, the unmoving pillars of rock that cannot feel nor sorrow, that cannot regret nor cry. Nothing can move them, nothing can shake them, because the world around them means nothing to them. The casual, kind, caring voice does nothing to shake them, because they do not depend on the voice. They existed long before the voice echoed across their hall, and they will exist long after it ceases to sound. They are impassive. They are stone.

But she isn't – she is flesh and blood, heart and mind, body and soul, and that voice had become a part of her, long ago.

She knows that voice, knows it with all her heart. Once, it was spoken in drab barracks, in leafy trees, and in green meadows, green meadows where the sun shone upon the earth as Kaien spoke. Her hero, her idol, the man that is everything that she can ever aspire to be – it is his voice. She knew the voice – _knows_ it – more than she had ever known anything else in the world. But it had since ceased to speak, had forever been silenced in that darkened night, and she had locked the voice away, deep within the secret corners of her heart, so that she could treasure it a little longer. And then it comes back, and that voice rings through the dark world of Hueco Mundo.

It should light the darkness. It should make her world warm once again, filling it with the gently warmth of Kaien Shiba, the warmth that inspired and strengthened and touched and cared all at once.

Instead, it breaks her.

She looks up with tears in her eyes, blue eyes that tremble in longing and in sadness. She sees the smile, and it is his. She sees the face, and it is his. She sees the eyes – and the eyes are the eyes of Kaien Shiba.

The mouth moves – the voice speaks – and she wants to believe – no, she _needs _to believe – that it is Kaien. And in that moment she dies inside, because she knows it isn't. It is not her mentor and friend, this creature of night and darkness and greed. No matter how her mind screams that it is, that it has to be, no matter how it longs to believe it, her heart will never accept it, because she is honest with herself, and her heart knows that it can't be her long-lost friend.

Kaien would never make her die for his own revenge. He would never have her die, he would never make her kill, to satisfy his own desire for retribution, because it was never part of Kaien's soul. He is – no, he _was_, because this is not him – a man of light and love, a person that could not hate even if his life depended in it.

She reaches up – up, she always reaches up to others, because they are always giants to her – to touch the hand, the gloved hand laid so gently on her forehead. She wants so badly to take it in her own, to hold it as though it was truly the right hand of Kaien Shiba – but it is just a glove. A pale, thin, useless mockery of the true being, an affront to the true man, a man that once lived.

"You're not going to say it's a joke this time, are you?" He doesn't answer, because he doesn't need to, and she is glad for that. She is afraid – afraid that if she hears his voice again, that she won't be able to reject it any longer, that her resolve will break, that her heart will crumble, that her soul will forever shatter. "You would _never _joke about that," she says – and she speaks to the man that she once knew, the man that is dead, the man who she killed.

She takes the hand, and grasps it firmly in her own, a warm, strong hand, a hand that was could once have been that of her lieutenant and friend. She is trembling, and she is scared – but it is her own anger that she is scared of. He speaks, smiling, and the words do not reach her through the veil of rage, and she yells even as she weeps.  
"Don't you _dare_ insult him!" With all of her strength, she grasps the hand and throws it away from her, off her, because it is too heavy for her to bear any longer. Her heart would be crushed underneath the weight of memory and of guilt. "Don't you dare insult Kaien Shiba!" She hears her voice, far away, and it is angry. She wonders how it can be so angry, when she is so broken inside, when she is in such turmoil.

And then she sees his face, and she knows exactly why her anger is so real.

He smiles, but she knows now that it was not his smile, is not his smile, and she will no longer let herself pretend it is. "What are you talking about, Kuchiki?" She had expected to feel pain again at the voice, a deep, piercing pain that would stab at her very core. She had expected the old ache to be woken, had believed that the voice would destroy her all over again, when the Hollow in his body had failed. She had expected to feel anguish – but it is not just anguish she feels as his kind voice echoes around the cold impassive stone pillars, stabbing out at her frozen heart. "Of course I'm Kai – "

"Don't you _ever _say that name again!" she yells, cutting off the voice, cutting off the name, because she cannot bear to her this creature say it, eyes blazing with rage even as tears pool deep within them. "Dance, Sode no Shirayuki!" The ribbon drifts out, the icy blade whispering gently in the wind – and she senses her mistress's anguish, and she comforts with her touch, even as she blazes at the one who had dared hurt her mistress so. She is cold in her mistress's hand, a blazing ice, cold as the ice that had settled around her heart the day he fought and lost.

He had died that day.

No – _she_ had died that day.

_And though she had run, she had always known that she could never run far enough._

His lips twist in a grin, a mockery of the warm smile that Kaien Shiba had once worn for her, a kind smile that had long since been lost in the shadows of memory. His hand reaches for the sword, the sword still stained with her blood, and the shadows seem to pool around him as it clears the sheath.

_And she remembers that the sun once shone in the sky – the sun that shone in his smile and his laugh. And the grass had once kissed her feet as she ran underneath the green trees._

She charges at the monstrosity, cold sword blazing with cold rage, even as the tears pour down her cheeks, because no matter how her heart denies it, her mind will never let her believe that that the man before her is not her lieutenant, her friend, her teacher.

_And the trees had darkened, as the darkness laughed and hissed inside his body, as his zanpakutō shattered on its hide. And they were dark as they surrounded her, panicked breath rasping in her throat, as the laughing creature stalked through the woods._

He laughs, and it is not the laughter of Kaien Shiba, the kind and caring Shinigami – it is the laughter of Metastacia, the darkness and chaos of the cruel night, the pure evil of the Hollow.

_The Captain's wild eyes as he fought, even as he coughed up blood from deep within. Kaien, darkened to gray, laughing as his dark-glowing-empty eyes writhed with tentacles. She raced through the woods, tears whisked from her eyes by the wild wind, and the trees were cold as he laughed._

_ The sword that she once lashed out with, futile, helpless as he charged. The eyes she had once closed, the sword of duty she had stabbed, even as she cried for the death of her first great mentor, the one who had taught her everything. His blood, across her face, her body, staining her uniform – and she is glad, because every drop of his blood is sacred. _

_ The quiet words of comfort he whispered as his life ebbed away. The arm that clasped her gently, even as the sword pierced him to his core. The eyes, glowing with pride in her and with gratitude, even as his blood saturates the floor._

She faces the laughing, sneering body, the body that is his, but the heart that will never belong to it. It knows no heart, never knew one – its body with the hole in its chest, the hole where it might have once been, before its hunger consumed it.

_Where do our hearts go, Rukia? When we die, our bodies turn to dust, our energy joins the reiatsu that makes the Soul Society – but where do our hearts go?_

She walks toward him, no longer ice, but stone, the warm stone that is left in the sun, cool to the touch, but filled with warmth, filled with the warmth of Kaien Shiba, the warmth of friendship and of trust, the warmth of kindness and of love. The stone pillars stand around her, cold pillars of rock, rock that will never know the love that she has felt. They may stand for an eternity, but when they fall, they will be nothing. When she dies, whenever that may be, her heart will remain, with Orihime and with Sado, with Uryuu and with Renji, with Byakuya and with Ichigo.

_ We leave our hearts with those we trust, and those we love._

_ Thanks to you, Rukia… I can leave my heart here._

Her tears are dry now, dried in the warmth of the sun.

_I can leave my heart with you._

This was Kaien. This man, this heart, this soul – this was Kaien, this is Kaien, this will always be Kaien.

_You may have his body… You may have his memories… But Kaien isn't there. _

_ He left his heart to me._


	2. a thousand days of wonder

It's been a while, and I am eternally grateful to anyone who is still out there reading. I've switched gears a little here – caught by inspiration, maybe. Summer is here, so I'm hoping to update a little more regularly.

Anyways. A little more Kaien/Rukia-centric, because I'm feeling it right now. Since this is Rukia's life, after all, I think we'll start here. Once again, this is inspired by _Soundscape to Ardor_, and just a little by _Be as One_ by w-inds.

Enjoy!

_a thousand days of wonder_

_of whispers of hearts, of worlds of concrete iron that we mad together._

_Sa Rart_

_never had i known wonder. i_

_had never felt the warmth of a fire that gave light in the snow of darkened winter, had never seen the beckoning glow of the sunrise at the beginning of another dawn, had never heard the sweet joyous calls that the trees resounded with as spring began, and the birds reminded the world that the sun had returned._

It was dark for you, and always had been. There was the harsh dryness of desert. There was cracked brown sun-dried mud at your bare feet. There was the river, dark and dangerous – shallow as you entered, but grew deep and treacherous the farther in you dared to go. You slipped, once, and drowned, long ago – but you will not remember that. There were the men, as harsh and cruel as the desert around you, who spat on the ground and cursed you as you came near. There was the everlasting hunger, the hunger that was never sated. This was the world.

_and there was a moment, as she left that world and entered the next, that she might have once found wonder, as she entered the stone gates and found the dazzling paradise that was Seireitei. _

But you were alone and friendless in a world as cold as the stone that surrounded it, cut off from the old world and imprisoned in the new one. There was no wonder here, as your friend fell away, as your world crumbled from bitter ashes into cold stone – smaller and smaller, lonelier and lonelier. This was the world.

_and a single moment of wonder, as she met Byakuya Kuchiki, as he took her in – but it was a faraway wonder, a distant wonder, a dim wonder.. He was alone, she though – and she was there, perhaps to relieve him of his sorrow and perhaps to rid herself of her own. but he had forgotten what wonder and solitude and hunger were, long ago, and though there were enough broken remnants of his heart to care for her needs, there was not enough of it to sooth her own troubled and faltering heart._

And so she had wandered – finished school, found a life, found her power, found herself. There was no more hunger in her – it had been sated by food and water and the garden in the Kuchiki manor, with the coy pond and Zen rocks, the meditation by the bubbling stream. There was calm and peace, instead of the raging _tai fun_ of anguish and pain and hunger and hurt she had once been.

But it was only just the surface of the river, the smooth-flowing, gentle water that masked the current underneath – the mask that covered the face of the girl, her heart rent apart by the instincts that she had needed to live with her hunger. They say that without a mask, it cannot live. They say, without a mask, its heart will perish, and take all of the power and the soul with it as it disappears from this world.

Slow water runs deep, they say. But they only say it – they are not slow enough to notice the depth of the pain in her.

Her face was a mask of flesh and bone, perhaps – but it was a mask of serenity and calm and peace, just like her brother's. It was a mask that kept her alive, that let her endure. Without hunger, perhaps – but there was nothing else.

This was the world.

And then her Squad. Ukitake – the kind and caring father she had never had. Kiyone, Sentaro – the younger siblings, perhaps, despite rank or distance, because she loved them and laughed with her father at their endless bickering and argument.

_here, she found home_

_but she was still alone in the home. It was a home – and she lived there. but it was not her home, and she knew it never could be. She stood alone. This was the world._

_and then _

he came.

A smile, a laugh – feigned anger, blowing it off, a gentle hand that tousled her hair, and she blushed as her hands fought to straighten it, and he had laughed with her. A goofy grin as he dangled upside down, hanging from a tree by his feet, laughing as he gave her food, and he shattered the mask that no one else had even realized existed.

Kaien Shiba. He was her world.

And he took her among the trees and the sunlight forests, and he had taught her. Gently – carefully – because she had known only cold dirt and stone, and she was ice, and he could shatter her with a blow, could melt her with a touch, could kill her as spring drew near. But he was a practiced gardener, and each of his seeds he planted with love and care and devotion and humor and kindness. No fruit or plant for the soul – he gave her comfort. He gave her solidarity. He gave her comfort.

He gave her wonder.

He showed her the streams and rivers and oceans he had mastered, the worlds of pain and despair that he twirled with ease around his wrist – because he was its master now, the master of the currents and the tides. And she was filled with wonder at the mere thought that he could tame the steams, the river itself – the _ocean_. The world.

And he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and whispered, _Your turn._

And slowly, gently – because she was ice – he taught her the way of swords. Teaching her to be Shinigami, he claimed – but he did not teach her how to master death, because she had always known death. He taught her wonder.

It was not a day, or a week, or a month, or even a year before their time together finally achieved visible results. It was a thousand days spent together, a thousand days of comfort and laughter and companionship, a thousand days of friendship and kindness and love. A thousand days of wonder.

And, finally, she had raised her sword. _Her_ sword.

And the white ribbon had leapt around her, and the ice whispered to her from another world, and she knew that she was no longer imprisoned within it. She was free to feel the sunlight and the warmth of the spring, the beauty of the forest that whispered quietly to her, finally. The winter was over.

She turned to him, the small girl in the robe of the shinigami, glowing with happiness and excitement, eyes wide and shining with joy. Slowly, she brought the sword around, slashing at the air – and the ice leapt from it like a current, like a stream, a river. No longer imprisoned, no longer binding – she, too, would spin the currents and the tides and the waters of life around her wrist as she made her way through life.

Never before had he smiled so widely – grinning – clapping and whistling, as though there was a crowd of thousands to witness her first Release, instead of only him. But, really, he was the only one that she wanted to share it with.

"What's its name?" he asked casually – but honestly, not indulgently. For the sword, as he well knew, reflected the deepest longings of the heart, and both of the Shinigami knew one another well enough to truly _know_ one another.

She smiled and brought the sword up, and the white ribbon danced through the warm sunlit air of the spring. "Dance, Sode no Shirayuki," she answered simply, because both of them understood exactly what that meant.

He smiled back, and clapped a casual arm around her shoulder as they walked to the barracks together.

_She loved him, she knew. And she knew he was married, she understood that he had a wonderful, beautiful wife that he loved – but she knew that he loved her, too. Not the love of a man and a wife, perhaps, but that had never been the love she had wanted. Here, in the endless seas of grass and trees, he was with her, a figure of boundless, immortal wonder – the man who carried the power of the tides in his sword, the man who loved, the man who inspired wonder. And that was all the love she could ever have wanted. _

He taught her hope, taught her the joy of solidarity He had shown her the forest of green beauty, of streams and birds and grass and of hope and dreams and quiet thoughts – of masks and of swords and of simple hands.. He taught her what it was to wear the water and the ice, to use the power of the world, to wear it upon slender human arms like sleeves of snow. He showed her a world without hunger and pain, a world of wonder.

From the darkness that was her mind, he had found light. Where the mask had once been beat a steady heart.

And as they walked through the clearing, she glanced back at the forest, so full of light and happiness and warm summer air and of timeless wonder, and she knew,

_This is my world_.

_Fin_

A thousand thanks to KuroiTori-sama, Annoying Little Sister, Burlington, Anithene, and MyPenIsSharperThanYourSword for wonderful, heartfelt reviews. I don't know what I would do without people like you guys.

Happy summer!


	3. Dreams

Sometimes, she dreams.

She sees a river, fast and cold and brown with mud, pale flowers - like stars - that drift on dark currents above pale fish that drift half-heatedly in dreamlike trances, carried where the river willed. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of a bridge through the white mists. It is warm stone and dark wood, lovingly smoothed by long-dead hands. It is a bridge that is shattered and broken, a bridge that lays forlorn upon the far banks of the dark river.

She dreams of a pale flickering light that is their campfire, where they burn their hard-caught fish, and she smells ashes and fish and sugar and sweat and death, and they meld, and they become the smell of home.

She dreams of snakes, and monkeys, and ice - and, perhaps, distantly, a whisper and a wind and a war hammer that never came to be.

She dreams, sometimes.

She dreams of honor, of renown, of power. She dreams of a day when life flows through her like water in the river, like the snow from the frozen skies. A day when she is safe, when she is real. She dreams of a day when she is full of life and color and song, instead of the numb whiteness that imprisoned her heart, long before she was jailed in the prison made of Sekki Sekki stone.

She dreams that she disappears, and she is afraid, because it is true. She is weak. She will fade.

She dreams that she will be the protector instead of the protected. She dreams that she will be strong. She dreams that she could matter. And she knows that it is just a dream, and that it will never be anything more than a dream.

She dreams of a midnight blue sky bejeweled with shining golden stars, where the scent of fresh evergreen fills her nostrils and air rushes past her sandal-clad feet as she soars across the sky, the lights in the windows of the houses bright far below her

She dreams of a river and a boat, and the only sound is the water as it laps hungrily at the sides of the barge and the oar that dips steadily into the river. The silent boatman stands behind her, black robes rippling like the river that carried them, and he watched without pity or pleasure as she unfastened her kimono and lets the black tunic fall into the dark waters.

Silently, the boatman offers her the white haori that she had dreamt might become hers, and, with pale fingers, she lets it fall into the river, too - and it floats in the water, for a brief moment in time, before it is claimed by the darkness of the river.

And then it is gone.

And she dreams of a broken bridge and a broken sword, of a broken spear and a broken heart, of a broken man and a broken voice, of a broken promise and a broken body - of a broken heart and a broken soul -

She dreams, sometimes.

She dreams.


End file.
